Private Ordinary

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

Morning light spilled through the windows of one of the guest chambers within Lysander’s estate on Byss, falling in muted bands of gold. The room itself was immense, and everything within the estate seemed to reflect the man who owned it.

Meya sat before a mirror and, for now, wore only a dress. Everything about it had been made specifically for her.

Black silk draped along her frame in carefully tailored lines, fitted close at the waist before falling in layered folds lower against her legs, while split sleeves exposed her pale skin.

Several servants moved quietly around her. One stood behind the chair, working carefully through her dark hair section by section. Every strand was placed precisely before being pinned into place with ornate golden pieces shaped like branching thorns… for today.

Nearby, another servant knelt beside a table lined with jewelry atop black velvet cloth. Rings. Bracelets. Necklaces. Chains. Each piece was polished carefully, then inspected for even the slightest imperfection before being handed off to be placed on Meya.

Meya raised one hand without a word. Several rings were slid onto slender fingers one at a time, followed by delicate chains draped across the back of her hand and wrist. Another servant adjusted them afterward so the gold rested perfectly rather than twisting unevenly.

This was her routine every morning.

Hair arranged strand by strand. Makeup applied with exacting care. Jewelry polished before being fastened into place. Her dress had already been steamed and pressed hours earlier, though servants still adjusted how the fabric rested along her frame whenever another piece of jewelry was added, smoothing folds and repositioning sections until the silhouette appeared exactly as intended.

Her nails had been shaped and painted the previous evening. Regardless, one servant still inspected them closely before applying a final layer of dark polish to a single finger where the surface had dulled overnight.

Scents of perfume oils, heated styling tools, silk fabric, and incense lingered softly throughout the room. Meya remained still through all of it. Golden eyes rested on her reflection, though her thoughts were not on what she was seeing in front of her. They had already drifted elsewhere.

She planned to visit a historian today and…to work with Lysander on another project.

It sat poorly with her. Working beside another Sith went against everything she was trained for. Part of her still expected deception beneath every offer and courtesy extended toward her.

Time grew closer to when she and Lysander planned to depart, and yet she made no move to rise from the chair. She would not leave until every final detail had been completed.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

Lysander's eyes opened long before dawn's violet promise touched the horizon. In the shadows of his Byssian estate, obsidian corridors smelled of incense and lignum vitae, carrying notes of perfumed oils farther than his senses usually wandered at this hour. Byss was home, one of three, and the least complicated of them, which was perhaps why it remained home at all..

Today his thoughts drifted instead to Brentaal and the nearly sector of Tapani, pulling at him like a melody he barely remembered. The regimen ended before the hall lamps were lit.. it always did. A long run first, though the dark. Blade forms next, running through the katas of his preferred forms. By the end of it all, sweat dried cold against his throat. In his own opinion, there was no better way to start the day. There were also more pressing ones.. corporate obligations, political fractures across Coruscant and beyond that widened while he slept, alliances that required more maintenance than most people understood until they lost one.

The incident with the collector had nearly faded entirely.. he had not had time to look back at it, which was probably for the best.

When the final stretch left him still and centered, he moved on and dressed with care. A fitted tunic of midnight-black with a high collar, trousers of the same silk, boots polished. Over it he draped a tailored coat, fastened at the throat by a single clasp.

Now fully arrayed, Lysander crossed the great hall to the guest's chamber. The door stood ajar, carved ebony framing glimpses of flowing black silk and pale arms draped in golden chains. There, he paused in the threshold, slowly absorbing the hush.

"You are taking your time," came a nonchalant tone, one that was undeniably his. "We leave when you're ready."

He waited for a few seconds before adding in a softer tone. "I've arranged transport. The pilot's been waiting since before dawn. As have I." Perhaps the first lie spoken to her since becoming acquainted. A small one, so that meant it didn't really count. "Patience is a virtue. Fortunately, he has more of it than most."

His thoughts would continue spilling in the room.

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

“You’re harassing me in an attempt to speed up the process.” Her voice remained flat, though a quiet sound escaped beneath her breath afterward. Not quite annoyance. Not quite amusement either. The slightest tension gathered through her shoulders before disappearing again.

She was not accustomed to people speaking to her this way. Not here. Not in rooms such as this. Around her, servants lowered their eyes rather than risk familiarity. Most people did.

Golden eyes shifted toward Lysander through the mirror, catching the edge of his reflection between hanging chains of gold and drifting sections of dark hair still being worked carefully into place.

“If you have both been waiting that long,” she replied at last, sensing the shape of deceit beneath something in his statement. The exact source mattered little to her, “then a few more minutes should not concern either of you.”

One attendant knelt beside the chair fastening a final chain around her wrist while another carefully aligned the draping gold across the exposed line of her shoulder so the metal rested precisely against pale skin rather than twisting unevenly beneath the light.

Only once every imperfection had disappeared did the servants finally step back. Meya rose then.

Black silk shifted against itself in layered folds as she stepped away from the mirror. Gold shimmered faintly across the dress beneath the chamber lighting while delicate chains resting against her hips answered the movement with soft metallic chimes.

Without looking behind her, one pale hand lifted slightly. The nearest servant understood immediately.

An obsidian case lined in dark velvet was brought toward Lysander by one of Meya’s male servants, carried carefully in both hands. Within rested a narrow crystal vial filled with dark amber liquid that caught faint traces of crimson whenever it touched the light.

“The oils you currently use linger too heavily in enclosed spaces,” Meya said while moving toward the doorway. “This is less intrusive.”

Even through the seal, the scent carried traces of black cedar, smoked amber, myrrh, and something colder beneath it. Clean rain against stone. Sharp air before a storm.

She did not slow while passing through the doorway of her temporary chamber.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

Lysander stood motionless in the doorway, even breaths hardly stirring the charcoal draped about his shoulders. At first, he saw Meya only through the gilded mirror, taking in small increments of the situation at hand. His gaze never lingered, respectfully so, though ever attentive to detail. A servant's fingers whisper over fabric; another's soft footsteps punctuated the hush. Silk against silk, one might day. The estate lay often unoccupied, a fact alone that intrigued him. Furthermore, few Sith knew these coordinates. By sharing them with her, he was already breaching one protocol.

One corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile; no, just its lonely ghost. She wasn't wrong, nor was she right. Perhaps simply accustomed to a different style of address. His tone fell into an air of nonchalance. "Admittedly yes. I was concerned it might consume the entire day."

The mirror reinforced their formality even as his expression stayed.. unchanged. With a pivot that brushed the doorframe, Lysander took the obsidian case proffered by a servant. Unexpected to be sure and yet a tug of gratitude touched his lips. The craftsmanship spoke at once to both its care and value.

Was this the diplomatic way of suggesting he'd been assaulting the air?

Dryness slipped back into his voice. "A fair critique, my lady. I shall adjust my presence accordingly. Better still, I shall treat this as this a refinement of statecraft. How dare I overwhelm a room with such.. aroma."

An exit was granted. Only a few strides were needed as he fell back into step beside her, matching her pace without need to close the distance.

They passed beneath vast onyx pillars, vaults high overhead, Byssian stone, veins aglow with faint yellow luminescence.

"Tell me, does every morning require that level of preparation, or is today special?" Of course, he already knew the answer. One might say it was unwise to poke a krayt dragon.

At the final corridor, tall windows spilled morning light across polished floor. The estate doors slid open automatically, revealing mist over dark stone. The sky was brushed with gold. A transport awaited on the landing platform, engines humming softly.

"After you," offered casually, neither out of chivalry nor deference.

Once inside, the silence wouldn't last for too long. "What do you expect to gain from today.. and what do you want that you don't have yet?" After a moment, he added, "And what, pray tell, do you expect of me in all this?"

There was a general idea of where the conversation might go, but of course finer points would be easier to navigate with her lead; if nothing else, today was also an opportunity to build rapport with someone new to the Covenant.

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

Meya gave no visible reaction to the comment about consuming the entire day. But... a quiet grunt escaped her at his… "acceptance" of the perfume critique, subtle enough it might have passed unnoticed beneath the soft metallic chimes accompanying her movements through the corridor.

Golden eyes shifted briefly toward Lysander when he brought up her morning routine. She paused only long enough to give him a look that managed to feel both assessing and quietly judgmental.

“Is silence especially difficult for you?”

That was all she said before her attention drifted elsewhere once more. By the time the transport came into view beyond the open estate doors, engines humming softly beneath the mist curling across the landing platform, her thoughts had already moved on.

She stepped inside first. Black silk settled around her as she took one of the seats near the viewport, crossing one leg slowly over the other while gold glimmered faintly against the dark fabric with each movement.

A faint frown touched the corner of her lips before vanishing beneath composure once more. "You ask many questions while offering very little of yourself in return," she said after a moment, turning her attention toward him at last. "You will answer them as well when I'm done."

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the skyline beyond the transport windows before continuing.

“I am searching for something. Or perhaps confirming whether it exists at all. The historian may know where the original material disappeared after several private collections dissolved.”

One pale finger shifted idly against the armrest beneath her hand before lifting slightly into the air between them. Moisture gathered there almost immediately. A small sphere of water suspended itself weightlessly above her palm, perfectly still.

Her golden eyes settled briefly upon the floating sphere. Then she spoke a quiet phrase in Dathomiri. The change was immediate. The clear surface darkened subtly before beginning to hiss. Thin trails of smoke curled upward as the liquid thickened into something clouded and corrosive. The smell changed next. Sharp. Chemical. Wrong.

Acid.

"This should not function the way it does," she said while studying the reaction herself. "At least not according to most surviving alchemical theory."

"I have managed refinement of it," she continued, "but not replication at meaningful scale." A brief pause followed before her attention shifted toward Lysander. "What I am searching for may change that."

"You're not needed for the entirety of the search. Your insights while speaking with the historian, however, may prove useful…if they arrive in smaller quantities."

Soft metallic chimes answered the subtle adjustment of her posture as she leaned back slightly within the seat.

"Now," she said at last, "your answers."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

Of course Lysander heard her. Progress, he thought dryly. Or a warning. Hard to tell with her. Both were dealt with equal composure. The moment passed, the way one lets an animal cross a path without startling it. Which was to say.. carefully, even if he didn't truly ear her. But then, that didn't stop the cutting gaze toward him; no, he didn't meet it immediately. His emerald gaze lingered ahead for a moment. The illusion of indifference was its own kind of leverage at times. One eyebrow finally lifted. Well. Study people like a weapon long enough and of course you'll find something to aim at.

A slow blink followed. "Not really, but you strike me as someone who mistrusts silence as much as conversation, so," affected in a more casual tone. Naturally, he'd already discovered which she preferred. She claimed that seat by the viewport akin to one claiming a throne. The seat taken opposite was angled just enough to hold both her and the skyline in view at once. "Answering questions should never pose difficulty." Then again, he was far more honest than most Sith, for better or worse. "They just need to be asked. Consider it a compliment."

The misted skyline drew a short glance. "Historians hoard secrets more fiercely than Sith," came the murmur. "If the material exists, he'll know. And if it doesn't, he'll know who buried it. "But.. I can make him speak plainly. That much I can promise. Afterall, tis my job here, to aid others across the Deep Core."

The sphere bloomed above her palm. Eyes narrowed in interest.. the kind of he reserved for anomalies, for things that defied established rules. That along was true to their first encounter recently. Leaning forward, elbows settling onto knees, the sphere was studied with the patience of someone parsing a treaty clause by clause. "What you've achieved, most alchemists would call impossible," said quietly. "When replication fails, it usually means the original principle is incomplete. Or intentionally.. obscured."

Perhaps she found him irritating, but he was not uneducated. A dry exhale followed, adjacent to a laugh. "Careful, I fear you're becoming predictable." Shoulders eased back. "Directness is clearly not beyond you, Meya." His head titled toward her. "So. Indulge me. Anything."

 

[Meya Liefi]

Something tightened instinctively inside her when he spoke about the alchemy, about incomplete principles and obscured foundations. A brief tightness caught in her chest before the feeling was forced back under control, though for a moment her body still felt unpleasantly heavy.

Some instinct in her wanted distance, or failing that, something sharp in her hand. Her right hand's fingers curled inward at the thought and the palm almost... ached. Not out of anger, nor because his words were wrong. Something else entirely.

The low hum of the transport filled the momentary silence between them while distant traffic drifted beyond the darkened windows in streaks of light and motion.

His next words interrupted her thoughts before they settled too deeply.

Becoming predictable.

A slight frown touched the corner of Meya’s lips before smoothing away almost immediately. One pale finger tapped once against the armrest while a quiet breath escaped her, carrying the faintest trace of annoyance.

“Comments like that are difficult to respond to without becoming useful to you.”

Her eyes shifted fully toward him, more focused than before.

It was one of those comments where any answer revealed something useful, wasn’t it? Agreement. Deflection. Irritation. Silence. He would likely pull meaning from all of them equally. Then again, it was possible he already did that with nearly everything she said or allowed herself to react to, but this particular comment had irritated her.

“Maybe you should be careful,” Meya continued, in what she told herself was a calm tone. Unfortunately, she could still hear the faint irritation threading through it. “Eventually, I may start paying similar attention to you.”

The tension lingering through her posture eased slightly after the words left her. That was when she shifted back against the seat, silk whispering softly against itself as the transport turned somewhere far below into another traffic lane.

She would indulge him. And herself.

“What planet do you call home?” The edge in her voice had dulled slightly by now. “Why the Covenant? Why not the Sith Order, or… something else entirely?”

"And when did you start calling yourself Sith?"

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

Lysander’s gaze wandered from the pallid contours of her visage to the gently windowpane, then returned once more, calculating the space separating them. Beyond the glass, the tunnel's walls slipped past in a subdued palette of grays. Behind him, a shadowed reflection would remain.. darker than any fragment of the scant light. Weight settled slowly into heels, fingertips grazing the armrest, and his datapad nestled within a pocket pressed lightly against his thigh. The profound silence of the device offered an unusual comfort.. no vibrations, no alerts demanding the emissary’s focus.. only the pauses nestled between whatever sparse words the woman uttered.

“Ukatis will forever remain my true home, even if it now belongs to the Republic.”

Her earlier challenge was still a charged current in the air; a lift at the chin would even dare to acknowledge the statement, with an unmistakable invitation to press deeper.

Another shift sent fingers brushing the edge of his coat near the collarbone, coaxing the Sith’s posture into a stance of openness. A diplomatic ethos settled naturally upon the blonde; of course.. it was easier to don an elegant mask, which served to hide the complexity beneath.

“My journey began with the Order,” he voiced calmly, tempered by experience. “After joining the Kor’ethyr Academy on Korriban. Behind the Blackwall, their power is more codified, if you will.. deeply institutional. Most of it is tied to bloodlines and tradition, divided among various doctrines. But at the core, it’s all driven by the same hunger. Historically, as I understand it, through their countless empires, they have always favored imperialism.”

He paused, letting that history settle before continuing. “The Covenant, by contrast, until recently, flourished by remaining decentralized and post orthodox. A lattice refusing strict dogma, treating power pragmatically.. commodity over creed. Disenfranchised by religious zealotry.” The gaze sharpened, conveying a nuanced interior. “Our power is bargained, wielded.. currency in flux, unbounded by faith and their fanatics.” A wry smile ghosted across his face. “Or fewer, at any rate.

A nonchalant shrug animated the shoulders. “Both are far more entwined than many perceive. Some might say the Order is a cathedral, and the Covenant the knife.”

Of course, further elaboration was always available, though such depth required inquiry first, and there was ample time for that.

Then, with a hint of mirth threading through his tone, he posed another question, perhaps one better suited for her. “You mistake me for one too soft to be Sith, do you not?”

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

More thoughts drifted somewhere behind her eyes now. Questions among them. More than she particularly cared to acknowledge. About the Covenant. About the powers gathering beyond the Deep Core and the currents shifting quietly through them all.

Part of her understood the necessity of learning these things if she intended to remain among this Covenant for any meaningful length of time. Another part still struggled to envision that future at all. Eventually, would any of this truly matter to her once she returned to the life she had occupied before? The thought lingered only briefly before she chose not to follow it further.

Instead, her attention settled upon his final question.

“Possibly.” The answer arrived without hesitation, one dark eyebrow lifting slightly as though punctuating the word itself.

“Both the weak and the strong call themselves Sith.” A faint tilt of her head followed, enough for soft golden chimes to accompany her next words. “Power has a way of correcting the mistake eventually.”

Beyond the transport windows, distant towers slipped past in endless layered silhouettes against the haze.

Mortyra recognized little of the surrounding districts and made no effort to determine how near they had drifted toward their destination. In some ways, the unfamiliarity worked to Lysander’s advantage. It kept her attention here rather than lingering upon how much longer remained before the conversation inevitably ended.

“Though you strike me as the type capable of building an empire through charisma...” The words carried neither admiration nor insult outright. Merely observation.

Something colder settled behind her expression afterward.

“How close would you allow someone like me to get? How much trust do you actually place in the people around you?”

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi
​

Whispered hums of starship engines threaded through the pregnant silence. Curiosity stirred within Lysander about this Sith's origins. There had been two Sith empires in his lifetime. One erected on fear, the other on ambition; he was familiar with both. Understanding their demands meant knowing too well what lay in their path of destruction.

Moments passed while her words reverberated in his mind. Experience insisted that the first response seldom carried the best answer. Eyes narrowed in contemplation before he spoke. "Define it for me. What quality do you see that suggests weakness?"

For all his flaws, ego did not rank among them. More often than not, it clouded judgement, or got others killed. Ambition, yes.. ambition had been carved into him back when he'd been nothing but a bloodied acolyte clawing his way through the Order's ranks. Clarity steered the following remarks. "I find that titles are irrelevant on a general level. Though, when one is taken, they're even harder to uphold. Many don't notice that until it's too late.. almost as if they misunderstand what it demands."

His gaze shifted to her fully, inspecting that silent challenge. "Sith tend to sort themselves. Through ambition. Through failure. Many by the consequences they can't outrun. Some might say survival is the only metric. I'd like to believe there's much more that defines us."

Insights gleaned suggested that she saw far more than she revealed. A second narrowing his gaze was simply recalibration. Though young, thus far, bridges had been his endeavor.. not dynasties. That between the Order and the Covenant, between what was and what could be.

A slow exhale left him, followed by the trace of a satisfied curve at his mouth. "Perhaps this intuition of yours carries some merit, Meya. Charisma forges loyalty in an instant.. too quickly. I've learned the difficult way that it also blinds people. So, I tend to prefer clarity over devotion. That wins every time."

The blonde's voice dipped into a murmur as an emissary's mask settled over him. "But what I'm building shall endure for longer." Influence reigned supreme; without it, structure was nothing more than smoke.

Admittedly, each answer of hers led to more questions. Not a terrible thing, really. "Proximity is easy. But true access to me is scarce. Those who have it.. become a responsibility, and I must be quite picky about the burdens I choose. And with that, the consequences that come with them." Then, without hesitation. "To what extent do you wish to approach my inner council?" The room's pressure would then begin shifting as the transport dipped in altitude.

"I don't place my decisions on trust alone. I do what I do because it serves the Covenant's future. People either align with that purpose or they don't." A cold answer, mayhaps, but Lysander indeed had colder mechanisms, not unknown to those under his banner. But, he always sought pragmatism first. "Trust is useful, but not required. I can work with anyone if the objective is clear. The Covenant gives me that clarity."

With those final words, silence returned, an invitation.

​

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

Mortyra's expression did not change, but her posture stilled further, as though his words had disrupted some internal calculation.

More that defines us?

“I think,” she said, slower than before, “that it must be easier to build things when you believe that.”

She did not answer when he spoke of clarity over devotion. Part of her found the statement difficult to believe. That uncertainty alone made the thought dangerous enough to leave unspoken.

What unsettled her more was his talk of responsibility. The concept sat strangely in her mind. From her experience, most powerful people eventually viewed that kind of closeness as leverage, usefulness, or inevitability rather than responsibility. Meya did not know what to do with that, so she discarded the thought entirely and moved on from it.

A subtle strain touched her otherwise unreadable expression afterward. Brief tension gathered between her brows, lingering only for a moment.

“Your inner council,” she repeated flatly.

A faint chiming of gold drifted softly through the transport before Mortyra spoke again.

“Even bringing that up...” Her voice remained calm, almost clinical. “I could have answered in ways that may have begun opening doors for me. Attempted to make myself appear trustworthy. Slowly.” The transport shifted subtly beneath them, and Mortyra resettled her legs slightly within the seat. “Time favors patience far more heavily for my species than it does for yours.”

Her gaze did not leave him.

“Lysander, you should deeply distrust me, and keep me far away from your... inner council.”

“If betraying you ever benefits me enough, I will.” The words arrived emotionlessly. One pale hand lifted then, casually adjusting a golden pin woven through dark hair after the movement of the transport disturbed it. “It will not matter how long we have worked together,” she continued evenly. “I will choose myself.”

Distant towers continued sliding past beyond the glass.

“That is what I suspect your greatest weakness may be,” Mortyra said at last. “Opening yourself to the wrong person.”

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

The transport's droning hum wove through their shared cabin. Byss, steeped as it may be in the Dark, vibrated through one's being, rather than a gentle pressing at the ears. Lysander felt calm wrapped around him nonetheless as confessions mingled like the two halves of an unforgiving equation. Whether they demanded some sort of resolution was yet to be determined.

The silence stretched; he allowed her words the space to unfurl their full shape; after all, quick retorts had long since become subordinate. A lesson learned painfully in more youthful years. These were a curse to the calculus of thought, where even most dangerous truths were known to reveal themselves.

At last, Lysander shifted in his seat, tilting his spine. His gaze locked onto hers, a strategist's neutral assessment. Between them, the admission settled, an axiom, more dust on a tomb. Betrayal was like credits for the Sith, and survival the exchange rate. Their kind enjoyed spending both. "Your betrayal has never been in question, Meya. In truth, it is the singe most predictable thing about you."

Charting all permutations of a person's nature was his role, and confirming patterns could be its own thrill. "I find that self preservation is neither flaw nor threat. Just a pattern. From my humble experience, patterns, once identified, become quite easy to manage." Such candor might seem.. indiscreet, but he waitedfor the reaction, daring to summon another reply from the woman sitting opposite him. "When you finally betray me, it won't be because I failed to see it coming; it will be because I allowed you the chance. I trust that you understand what that means."

The transport's descent shifted as they neared their destination. He reclined a little more. Discipline always cloaked him naturally. "Opening myself to the wrong person isn't always weakness. The real problem lies in failing to spot them in time. And you haven't yet convinced me you fall into that category."

A slow exhale unfurled from him. "My council is responsive only to true intent, for better or worse. Something to consider, yes?"

During the pauses, he tested her reasoning, as he did with everything. "I find that wasted potential is far more frightening than betrayal. More intriguing still is that you could have kept your nature hidden, but chose to reveal it to me. Now I'd like to know whether this was strategy, simple as basic instinct, or could it be something you have chosen not to examine so closely?"

An elbow found the armrest as one hand came to rest against his cheek. "We shall be arriving soon, should you require reassurance that my company has not become a complete burden with its questionnaire. Though, I suspect you would not hesitate to inform me if it had."

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania
​

He was clearly confident, though Meya could understand why. Confidence likely came easily to someone like him, someone who bent circumstances in his favor far more often than not. She did not hold it against him.

“There are many ways to betray a person.” The statement lingered unpleasantly in her mind.

“You do not know everything I have done." Her voice retained its practiced calm. "In the end, it may be far worse than you imagined."

She refused to let her thoughts linger upon the past for longer than necessary. There was no value in revisiting it now. What mattered was that she understood the cost of certain actions well enough not to romanticize them afterward.

"Regardless." Meya waved one hand dismissively through the air with the effortless familiarity of someone long accustomed to ending conversations on her own terms. "Time to move on."

Despite the dismissive gesture, a slow exhale finally escaped her, the first since their conversation began. She would have preferred he not notice it, though at the moment she lacked the energy to make it subtle.

This man was exhausting, but she was not innocent here either. Some quieter part of her already understood she was permitting a line to blur that she had repeatedly told herself should remain untouched.

“Examining it does not change reality.” This time, her words emerged softer, though no less controlled. One pale hand adjusted slightly against the armrest before settling once more. Whether he understood the implication mattered little to her. It was not a line of thought she wished to pursue.

Their destination emerged gradually from among the surrounding towers.

The historian’s estate lacked the brutal severity common throughout much of the capital. Rather than obsidian fortification and sharp symmetry, the structure carried an older architectural influence shaped around height, silence, and preservation.

The transport descended smoothly toward an elevated landing platform extending from one of the estate’s upper levels.

“You’re right,” Meya said flatly as the transport finalized its descent. “I would tell you.”

Layers of dark fabric settled elegantly around her as she rose and moved toward the exit, delicate gold chains chiming softly against one another in the transport’s muted lighting.

The hatch released with a low mechanical hiss. Cool air drifted inward carrying the faint scent of rainwater and polished stone.

“Have you heard anything regarding this historian?” she asked while her heels clicked softly against the platform.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

Darkness, it seemed, was not a revelation. No need to illuminate shadows already mapped; silence already sketched the outline with more than enough clarity. Dismissal was an art, was it not? And yet Lysander found it more as a courtesy, one the Emissary accepted on his own accord. "I've never once assumed your history was gentle, Meya. Our meeting upon Byss was revealing enough. But you mistake me if you think it's something I'd shy from." A soft exhale of his own followed. "As you wish, though. Onward."

And for the remainder of that descent, he let the silence carry him. Not the brittle kind demanding filling; nay, it was just the contemplation of a one who understood the value of withholding some things.

Shadows pooled like spilled ink beneath the shuttle’s hull as it slid through veils of fog. Below, Byss stretched out: a city forgotten by sunlight. The Dark Side here was in many ways, quieter. Lysander breathed it in as one might inhale incense. Strange to think of all the worlds in the Core, it'd been this one that truly called to him.

A fortress eventually emerged. Not a Covenant stronghold though. It was older. There were no banners nor guards; nothing about the architecture suggested intimidation. The landing platform was from one of the upper levels. Cool air rushed in once the hatch opened. The blonde fell into stride beside her.

“A few accounts. He’s quite cautious, territorial, and far too comfortable telling powerful people no. That alone makes him interesting if you ask me.”

A slight lift of one shoulder, the diplomatic veneer thinning. “Of course, it won’t be enough for you. Men like him prefer visitors who are predictable, courteous, patient.. so naturally, he’ll find you exhausting within the first two minutes.”

Because you’re an asshoIe, Lysander thought. Which was precisely why Meya fit into the Covenant’s hierarchy without effort. Maybe she just hadn’t realized it yet..

A smile formed, partially because he suspected how she might react. Dryness sharpened his tone. “Then again, maybe the two of you will become best friends. Stranger things have happened.”

Ahead, tall doors waited. They were carved from dark alloy. When they drew closer, they opened on their own.

A figure stood just inside the threshold. Robed in muted gray. Silver hair and pale skin. He offered no bow nor any other form of courtesy.

“You’re late.” A breath later, “And you’ve brought company.” The man’s gaze shifted toward Meya. “Very well. Come inside. The answers you seek are not kept near the door.”

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania
​

While she was not the type to quit easily, Meya was beginning to suspect she might not be able to chase off this Lysander. Her gaze lingered on him for several heartbeats after his first answer. There was something in her eyes then, though she hoped it revealed nothing.

A few seconds later, her expression settled back into its usual neutrality. "Mmm." The sound escaped her without any irritation attached to it. "It's possible that may work to our advantage." Her gaze returned to the estate ahead. "He might be more willing to surrender information if he believes doing so will make me leave sooner."

At the mention of becoming best friends, her nose twisted immediately. "Best friends?" Genuine confusion entered her voice. "I thought..." Her eyes shifted briefly toward him. "Do you not know me at all?"

The doors parted before them, and Meya's attention settled upon the silver-haired man waiting beyond the threshold. She studied him in silence, taking in the absence of ceremony, the lack of deference, and the ease with which he greeted guests who, in most places, would have been met with considerably more caution.

Without waiting for further introductions, she stepped inside. Her tone remained calm and matter-of-fact as she spoke. "You claim to have come across documents concerning one of the Eyes of Vahl. Before we discuss what they may describe, I would like to know where those accounts originated and how they came into your possession."

Whether the historian believed the Eyes existed was, for the moment, irrelevant. Belief could be mistaken. It was equally possible that he knew they existed and had chosen not to share that conclusion. The records themselves would likely be of greater value than any opinion he offered, though it was possible Lysander didn’t agree.